


Love's Musketeer, Chapter 13

by Angelise (angelise7)



Series: Love's Musketeer [13]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Read the series notes!, Romance, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-13
Updated: 2003-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos soothes his wounded soul spending time with D'Artagnan and Henri faces a challenge of the heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Musketeer, Chapter 13

Athos stood at the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flames. A firm grip on his shoulders startled him from his reverie and he glanced up to see Porthos standing beside him. A glass of wine was pressed into his hand and the Musketeer captain took a sip, his eyes shifting to the sleeping figure in the large bed.

"How is he?" Porthos moved across the darkened room to stand beside the bed and, with a fatherly smile on his face, leaned over and smoothed back the covers that hid D'Artagnan's face from view. 

Athos resumed his contemplation of the fire's dancing flames. "He's not roused since his collapse. Not even when Buckingham's personal physician examined him." 

Porthos looked back at the friend. "And?" 

Athos swallowed down his wine and set the glass on the mantle. "He treated his wounds." 

With a last reassuring glance at D'Artagnan, Porthos turned and walked toward Athos. "Why hasn't he wakened yet? Did the doctor have a reason for that?" 

A burning ember of wood tumbled to the edge of the hearth and Athos kicked it back into the fire. Reaching for his wineglass, he grimaced at its empty state. "Exhaustion. Mental and physical exhaustion was the good doctor's explanation." 

Porthos laid a soothing hand on his friend's back. "I see before me someone else who is suffering from that malady." He firmly led Athos to a nearby armchair and pushed him down into the cushioned softness. "You, my friend, are dead on your feet and it would take only a gentle spring breeze to knock you down. When was the last time you slept?" 

Athos attempted to stand, his movements blocked by his comrade's gentle but determined grip. "My health is irrelevant. D'Artagnan's rescue was my sole focus and nothing, I mean nothing, was more important than getting him back." 

Porthos knelt beside Athos and grasped his hands. "I understand that. But, dear friend, we still have a long trip ahead of us. It will be days before we are safely back on French soil again. It will serve us no good if you, yourself, become ill with exhaustion. You need to rest." 

Finished with his admonishment, the older Musketeer embraced Athos and rose to his feet. Whispered words stopped him at the door. 

"I almost lost him, Porthos. I...." 

Porthos looked back at his friend, a small smile of understanding on his face. "Go to sleep Athos. Climb in bed and wrap your arms around that young man. Let the feel of his body erase your fears." 

Athos stared down at his boots, his ears detecting the quiet closing of the door. He sat for a long time simply listening to the soothing rhythm of his lover's heart, concentrating on its steady beat, allowing his own heart to echo it. Finally, he lifted his head and watched the even rise and fall of D'Artagnan's chest. The familiar sight soothed his raw emotions, called to him, drew him toward the sleeping youth. 

Athos knelt beside the bed, cautiously lifting the covers away from D'Artagnan's body. He needed to reassure himself that his beloved was, indeed, safe and unharmed. He needed proof that his past folly had not caused his lover harm. For a brief moment, Athos closed his eyes and a prayer of heartfelt thankfulness fell from his lips as he gripped the silver cross that lay upon his breast. He pleaded that his past sins would never again cause harm to the innocent lad that lay before him. 

Athos rested his head upon the edge of the bed and whispered to the silence. "Forgive me, my love. I will sacrifice my life before allowing the Cardinal to touch you again." Athos tangled his hands in the damp curls that lay strewn across the pillows, wrapping several strands around his fingers and bringing them to his lips for a loving kiss. With a weary sigh, he released D'Artagnan's hair and watched as each individual strand floated down to rest on a bare shoulder. 

A frown appeared on Athos' face at the sight of the dark circles that still shadowed D'Artagnan's eyes. He brushed his thumb across the thick eyelashes, wishing he could erase the black smudges. His fingers momentarily rested upon D'Artagnan's lips, absorbing their moist heat. Giving into the hunger that had been banked for so long, Athos removed his hand and brought the fingers to his mouth, tasting them, savoring the slight evidence of his lover's essence. He continued his examination, his gaze drifting over the bandaged shoulder, the furred chest and abdomen. The fading bruises on the lad's genitals captured his attention and an overwhelming anger flared inside him, a cry for revenge searing his mind. Gripping the bedcovers, he struggled for control over his rage. 

Taking a deep breath, Athos gently laid his hand on D'Artagnan's slumbering cock, his fingers ghosting over the abused flesh. He left his hand there for several minutes and couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when his expert sense of touch assured him of no lasting damage. Thighs and lower legs, feet and even toes received the same intense scrutiny as Athos was desperate in his survey, his eyes missing not one inch of his lover's naked body. 

Finally satisfied with D'Artagnan's well-being, Athos stood, staggering slightly as he wearily removed his garments. Before climbing in bed, he searched his tunic for a certain item and, upon finding it, slowly slid under the covers and sheltered D'Artagnan's smaller body with the heat of his own. Pulling several blankets over them, Athos rested for a few moments, the mere presence of D'Artagnan offering him a comfort that he had searched for all his life. He buried his face in the thicket of curls that covered his beloved's heart and his lips worshipped the area with several tender kisses. A quiet stirring from D'Artagnan suspended Athos' loving and he watched as his lover snuggled against him, his breath catching when the lad wrapped his body around him, situating himself until he was resting atop of Athos' large frame. 

The Musketeer captain was afraid to breathe, afraid of wakening D'Artagnan. He waited patiently, rejoicing in the masculine warmth that surrounded him, a warmth he had thought lost to him forever. It took several minutes before Athos was assured D'Artagnan would not wake and he was finally free to completely release his senses, allowing the youth's living spirit to heal the aching wound in his heart. 

Unconsciously, D'Artagnan's hand strayed across Athos' smooth chest, his fingers tracing the older man's flat nipple. Athos bit his lip and strangled the moan of hunger that clawed the back of his throat. The clenching of his fists reminded him of a task that still remained to be completed. Slowly, Athos lifted D'Artagnan's left arm and brought the lad's hand to his lips. His mouth grazed over the tanned flesh, his tongue tasting the salty flavor of his skin. He pressed his lips to the pulse point at D'Artagnan's wrist, the beat a joyful reminder of the cherished life he held in his hands. With gentle care, Athos replaced the braiding of gold around D'Artagnan's wrist, kissing the cold metal once it was secured, warming it with the heat of his mouth. He then pressed the gleaming circlet to his heart, flattening D'Artagnan's fingers over his chest. 

Closing his eyes, Athos traced the contours of his lover's body, his fingers drifting over the sloping curve of D'Artagnan's buttocks, the straight line of his back, the solidity of his shoulders. Turning his head, Athos nestled his face in the silken strands of mahogany as his mouth explored the softness before coming to rest next to his lover's ear. Choked with emotion, his husky words tumbled out in fractured whispers. "My beloved Musketeer. My love... my heart. My world is empty without you, D'Artagnan." 

The older man wept with joy and gladness, his tears slipping down his face, lost in a mass of tangled curls. He gathered the young lad close and, after brushing away the curtain of hair, Athos pressed his lips to D'Artagnan's and surrendered himself to sleep. 

+++++++ 

Henri leaned back against the tree and watched a pair of swans lazily glide across the small lake. The warmth of the afternoon sun evoked a drowsy contemplation of past events and the black Musketeer slid down until he was resting on the ground, his back solidly supported by the large tree trunk. He pulled up a handful of grass and smiled as the wind scattered the blades of emerald green across his legs. Glancing across the pristinely-kept landscape of Buckingham's estate, Henri was reminded of his lowliness, his humble station in life. How could he even begin to believe that a man of such noble blood would want someone like himself, would even consider associating with him? Henri shook his head. Not to mention, the Englishman was a sworn enemy of his country. 

The young man discovered a stray stone and angrily tossed it into the lake. Of course, the fact that he had shamelessly manipulated the man sexually and emotionally could not be so easily dismissed. Those guilty thoughts had kept him awake throughout the night and the tattered remains of his bed gave proof to his disturbed sleep. Henri rubbed his hands over his face, his whole body aching with a deep weariness. Life was not fair. Or should he say, love was not fair. 

Henri snagged a nearby flower and began ripping the petals from the bloom as his heart protested, demanding him to confess the truth that lay hidden inside. It was not only guilt that drove him to wander the silent halls last night. Images of a wanton body stretched naked beneath him tortured his mind relentlessly. Desire had warmed his blood, inflaming his body with a hunger that would only be satisfied by the love of one specific person. 

That Englishman. The blueblood noble. The Duke of Buckingham. 

"Heavens be damned!" Henri slammed his fist against the tree. "I cannot be in love with him. I refuse." The young man raised his face to the sky, his voice a quiet roar. "Do you hear me? I refuse!" 

The sharp edge of a sword slid across Henri's throat, the tip teasing the raised area of his Adam's apple and testing the skin's resilience. The blade then moved to the edge of the Musketeer's chin, requesting with a subtle tap that he tilt back his head. Henri's eyes clashed with those of the Duke's and a blush stole across his ebony cheeks as he gazed into the Englishman's laughing eyes. 

"So, my dark warrior. You refuse to love me?" 

Henri closed his eyes in embarrassment, his heart hammering in his chest. He silently cursed the gods for allowing him to voice his thoughts outloud. The Duke's sword tapped against his cheek, reminding him of his presence. Henri opened his eyes, this time noting the somber expression on the Duke's face. 

"I asked a question, dear sir. Do you refuse to love me?" 

Henri expertly caught the sword that was tossed to him and he quickly scrambled to his feet, acknowledging the challenge. Assuming the proper stance of attack, he raised his sword. "I refuse nothing. Is your love worthy of a warrior's heart?" 

Buckingham saluted Henri with his sword before taking up his position. "Why don't you discover that fact for yourself?" A tight smile ghosted across the Englishman's face. "The gauntlet has been thrown down before you, Musketeer. Do you accept?" The Duke's sword lashed out, slicing through the ties on Henri's shirt. 

Henri stared down, unable to believe what had just transpired. He ripped the garment from his body and threw in on the ground. Glancing up, he caught the look of desire in the nobleman's eyes, the man's gaze captured by the appearance of Henri's bare chest. "Ah... I do believe I may have a slight advantage here," the Musketeer whispered to himself. Henri bowed to the Duke and reassumed his position. "I accept your challenge, Monsieur. En garde." 

The clash of swords rang out, disturbing the afternoon's tranquility. The swans squawked their protest and swam away, leaving the two men to dual in private. The Duke quickly took lead, forcing Henri to retreat before his aggressive attack. His eyes remained trained on the fine physique of the black Musketeer, observing every move. His mind went beyond taking note of Henri's defensive gestures, focusing on the play of muscles beneath sweat-covered flesh. In a single second his gaze traced the path of a droplet of moisture as it slid over a dark nipple and fell to dampen the fabric of Henri's pants. Distracting him momentarily, a wicked idea teased the Duke's thoughts and he had to jump back to miss a thrust from his opponent's blade. Smiling with devilish delight, he pressed forward and forced the Musketeer to retreat toward a field ripe with golden wheat. Buckingham began to methodically strip Henri of his remaining garments, the sharp edge of his sword skillfully cutting through the simple fabric sheltering the man's lower body. 

It did not take long for Henri to realize the Duke's lustful desires. Unfortunately, the Englishman's expertise with the sword far surpassed his own and even though he struggled valiantly, he was soon helplessly disarmed and disrobed. Before he could even voice a protest, an unexpected move from Buckingham and Henri was knocked off his feet on to his back. Henri clutched the tattered remains of his tunic trousers, shielding his hardening erection. Looking up, he felt a sudden thrill of amazement at the love and passion reflected in the Duke's eyes. Henri had never encountered such a look and his body reacted quite strongly, his shaft beginning to leak and stain the cloth that hid it. Wondering if he was having the same effect on Buckingham, Henri scouted the area south of the Englishman's waist and whistled sharply at the evidence of the man's arousal. 

A sharp tap on his hands from the Duke's sword redirected his attention and Henri, once again, trained his gaze on the Englishman's handsome features. 

"Do you still refuse to love me, Musketeer?" Buckingham reached out and cupped the side of Henri's face, his thumb tracing across his bottom lip. 

"No." Henri captured the young nobleman's thumb with his teeth and teased it with his tongue. He then pulled it into his mouth and sucked on it hungrily, listening to the quiet moan that rumbled out into the silence. Letting it slowly slip from his lips, Henri asked huskily, "Are you worthy of this warrior's love, Monsieur?" 

The Duke bent down and licked the beads of sweat sliding across the older man's chest, paying specific attention to the dark nipples. "Oh yes, my dark warrior. I am indeed worthy." He gripped Henri's hand and pressed it against his bulging groin. 

Henri laughed wickedly and pulled Buckingham down, wrapping his arms around the man's slender frame. He captured the Englishman's mouth and swallowed his sounds of passion as he removed the barriers of clothing that still separated them. Rolling over, Henri situated himself between the nobleman's long legs, his heavy ballsac resting snuggly in the cradle of the Duke's thighs. He thrust against him and growled as his slick flesh slid against its counterpart. 

The hunger for air demanded the men pull apart, their mouths separating but still aching for each other's heat. Buckingham found another target for his lips and latched onto a hard brown nipple, sucking insatiably on the small nub. Whispering his new lover's name, he grappled for a hold on the Musketeer's ass, pulling him closer, grinding his erection feverishly against him. Soon a frantic rhythm was established as the two men pushed themselves closer to the edge. 

Buckingham reached up and carded his fingers through Henri's tight curls, pulling his head down so that he could whisper, "I surrender my heart to you, Musketeer." 

Henri gazed into the warm, loving depths of the Duke's eyes as the blazing sensation of his orgasm ripped through him. He caught a flash of fire in Buckingham's face as a mingling of liquid heat slid between their bodies. 

The Duke's desire had shaken the Musketeer, piercing straight to his heart, leaving him vulnerable to heartbreak. Was he willing to collaborate with the enemy, trust the evidence in the eyes staring down at him? Love's instinct took over as his lips reached for his lover's mouth, catching the Duke's shivering breath. 

"I demand certain conditions be met before I accept your surrender." 

The Duke collapsed, his body trembling, his voice breathless. "May... may I ask what these conditions are, Monsieur?" 

Henri rolled to his side, gathering the slender Englishman close. "I insist you love me forever." 

Buckingham nipped across the black man's jaw before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "My dark warrior, that is a condition I have no problem with. Now sheath your sword, dear sir and let the loving commence." 

Henri smiled at his lover. 

"You English are very pushy." 

* * *

End

**Author's Note:**

> Cast of characters: Athos-Jim, D'Artagnan-Blair, Porthos-Simon, Aramis-Rafe, King Louis-OC, Phillipe, King's consort-OC, Cardinal Richelieu-Garett Kincaid, Rochefort-Lee Brackett, Duke of Buckingham-Stephen Ellison, Henri Phillipe-Henri Brown, Lady de Winter-Carolyn Plummer, Rogert-OC 
> 
> 1\. This is set in a GAY universe. Most every character is GAY.  
> 2\. If you're looking for a work of literary excellence with in-depth plots and insightful thoughts from the characters, you're in the wrong place.  
> 3\. Please remember this series was written purely for fun! Romance and sex, with a little sword play thrown in for good measure--that's the way I wrote it.


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